To be a Lady or a Gypsy: Part One: Book Two of the London Ladies Series

by Hannah West

  She would now have the option of having new clothing made and would not have to share. She would have simple gowns of many colors that she could put on herself with no help, that could support her and offer comfort.

  The maid peeked back into the room not long after to offer help with her hair and Malia refused. She would wear her hair down as she always did if not in a braid. She would not allow them to curl her hair with an iron either.

  She had seen a few ladies when they traveled through the village and while they were always so finely dressed the hair made them look like sheep. She did not want to look like everyone else.

  With her standing out among the women, she could find a husband faster and the sooner she could return to her sister.

  Her mother had given her one piece of advice.

  “Pick a good man and make him yours even if he does not want the choice. Ruin him if you have to,” Mama had said with a grin, “You are a gypsy after all at heart, my dear girl.”

  A grin crept over Malia’s lips. It would be different from what she was used to, but she was used to taking whatever she wanted. But for when it slipped through her fingers and never returned to her.

  The grin slipped, replaced by a scowl.

  If she came across Devon again, she would crush him beneath the heel her boot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You look so much like your mother did,” was her father’s soft greeting to her as she was let into his office.

  He looked much the same as he always had on his short visits with her at his country estate. But the years had weighted more on him now leave a touch of grey at his temples and laugh lines by his eyes.

  He grey eyes still held that deep levelness, but they were sad, and his tone patient. Always the lord, he was.

  Malia dipped a curtsey for him saying, “You are most kind, Father.”

  He rose from his chair and came around the large heavy desk. “Let me get a look at you. I have been far too long.”

  “It has been four years,” Malia said a bit sharply.

  His hand that had been reaching for her froze before he let if fall to his side. “Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “as I said, too long. I am glad you have joined me for your Season. You will not be disappointed. The event every young lady waits for starts in a few weeks and my older sister has agreed to introduce you into society and take you under her wing.”

  Malia raised her brows in surprise, “I have an aunt? You have a sister?”

  It just showed how protected she had been away from her father’s world to know barely anything about him or his side of the family.

  He smiled kindly. “Indeed. I have three sisters, one older and the other two much younger. Your grandfather married twice, the last time when I was fifteen. Your younger aunts aren’t much older than you and both married, of course. We will have a family dinner before the circus of the Season starts. You have two older cousins, who are sons of Grace, my older sister, and a daughter a little younger then you.”

  It warmed Malia to think of having a large family here as well. She had dreaded the thought of being alone.

  But then she became worried over what they would think of her background.

  “What will they think of me when they find out I am a gypsy?”

  Her father scowled, “You are one no longer. You are a lady now. The story will be that you have been away at school in the Americas. That way they will not question some of your more,” he paused to find the right word, “odd ways.”

  That pricked a nerve but she let it go. She had to make this work.

  “And what shall be expected of me this Season?” Malia asked coolly.

  The Marquis of Lakewood went back to his desk and sat done. “You are expected to make a match. The lord must be equal to my title or above, have weathered no scandals, and maintain a decent income. You will one day inherit my title and everything with it and it she be shared with your spouse. No second sons, Malia. And above all else, be the daughter of a Marquis.”

  The cool business tone he had used was nothing like the warm one he had used at first. It just minded her of his position in relation to hers. She may be his daughter, but she would always have gypsy blood running in her veins, the blood of the poor.

  “Now off with you. My sister Grace will be coming by later this afternoon to call upon you. She is the only other person who knows the truth of the matter, but you are forbidden from telling anyone else about your past. Are now, Lady Malia of Lakewood, please act so. This family has a sterling reputation and I plan on it staying so.”

  With that he went back to the tasks at hand and she was shown out, dismissed before she could ask another question.

  Upon entering the room that would be her for the foreseeable future she took in the gold brocade and cream color of the pattern wall paper that seemed to match the colors in the rest of the room.

  She could not remember living her as a tiny child, it was all new to her and she missed the comfy feel of the tent she shared with her mother and sister.

  “Welcome to London, my lady,” a cheerful young maid greeted as she came into the room baring Malia’s sole bag of possessions.

  Her ragged, repatched bag belonged in another world, not in this fine room. Just like she knew she truly didn’t belong here.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her nerves barely withstood the whirl of events that her first ball had unleashed upon her, but with her new aunt by her side she had made it through.

  Unlike her father who had a cold side to him, there was nothing cold about Grace. She was a beautiful lady in her mid-forties, but she didn’t look a day past her thirties. She flowed with the crowd seamlessly and artfully arranged introductions with serval possible lords for her consideration.

  Malia tried to be interested in the man that seemed to take an interest in her and they did seem like fine man, mostly, but a few that came her way made her want to run away. One of those men was the elderly Lord of Lockard, who was old enough to be her great grandpa.

  “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Mia,” he rasped with a wide grin, “If I was twenty years young I would ask for a dance but sadly these old bones won’t allow me too.”

  With a mental eye roll Malia told herself, twenty? Try forty, old man. But on the outside she smiled politely and her aunt took over.

  “How generous of you,” her aunt intoned, “It was a pleasure to see you again, Lord Lockard.”

  As soon as the older gentleman ambled away her aunt fluttered her fan in front of her face before saying quietly, “He is not the one for you, but he is a nice man.”

  “I would hope you would not marry me to a man who could be your father,” Malia said jokingly.

  “Try grandfather,” her aunt returned with an amused glance. “He is in his eightieth year, Malia.”

  Malia chocked on her sip of lemonade which made her aunt laugh. Wiping her mouth she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.

  They had not since all eyes were turned to the entrance into the ballroom.

  A late comer decked out to the nines in dark blue silks was welcomed into the room as warmly as a winter ice storm. He looked down his sharp nose like he was a king among man, a slight condescending smile touching his lips.

  Instantly Malia did not like the man. He was the type she imagined when thinking of the rich upper class that was full of themselves. The ones who thought money could get them anything or out of anything.

  “That is Lord Brackus, Malia,” her aunt whispered into her ear, “He is a very dangerous man and you should never go near him. Not only is he a rake hell but he is a shark. He is famous in the ton for loaning money and collecting on the short end of the deal. If you can’t pay him then he uses unscrupulous means for repayment.”

  Curious as to how she knew this Malia asked, “How would you know such?”

  Her aunt’s pretty face screwed up as she said, “My brother loves the card tables. Your father has used Lord Brackus’ services a time or two, the
fool. But he has always paid him back. However I know of a few people who were not so lucky. The poor families were ripped apart and left with nothing, good families.”

  Malia was not surprised; he looked as if he were waiting to throw oil on the fire. Her instant dislike for him however was paired with a since that she vaguely knew him from somewhere.

  Taking another drink from her crystal glass she met his eyes over the rim of her glass. He seemed surprised when she would not look away like every other young miss. She would not back down. It he who looked away first and she smiled over her small victory.

  She would not be a meek miss, she would be bold like her blood demanded, and for everyone who did not like it could go hang. She would be herself and her partner would except that as she would accept their traits.

  And men like that were the ones she would walk over, that were beneath her notice. Everyone deserved respect; it did not matter where they came from. That was something she would demand in her potential partner.

  “Come, dear, I have a few more nice gentlemen for you to meet and there are still a few dances left before the night ends.” Her aunt sighed, “Then we must find and fetch your father from the gaming rooms.”

  Malia bit the inside of her cheek to stop from giving her opinion she had formed of her father. He was a good man, mostly, but he was a weak man with a weak spirit.

  He was an addict and she could now see why her mother had left. Malia would not put up with such in her husband.

  That she knew.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Pink is most defiantly your color, dear,” Grace said as she looked through bolt after bolt of different shades of pink.

  Madame La Grande shook her head as she joined Malia’s aunt.

  “No,” the woman argued in her thick French accent. “Dark rich colors such as this,” she said picking out a lovely royal blue silk.

  Grace wrinkled her nose slightly, “But she is a debutant, a young, unmarried miss. She is to wear the pretty pale colors like white, yellow and pink!”

  Madame waved away her aunt’s words. “This year there is a new trend among the young ladies. Bolder colors are to be worn this year! It is the thing, would you have this beautiful young lady over looked in a washed out pink? NO!”

  Coming over to where Malia stood on a small wooden box Madame draped the silk over her shoulder.

  “Ah!” she exclaimed, “It is just the thing! C'est parfait pour toi. What do you think ?”

  “I love it,” Malia replied honestly. She had always loved bold colors and her love of them comes from her colorful heritage.

  She loving fingered the soft, smooth surface and wondered what her mother would think of her wearing something so fine. She would bet her mother had worn this color when she had been together with Malia’s father. She would not have been a muted wife.

  “I would like a dress made of this please,” she said suddenly. Why not have what she wanted?

  She looked around. “I would also like something in bright yellow and you may surprise me with the rest,” Malia said with a grin at the woman.

  Madame clapped happily with a laugh, “Just so, you will have the best dresses of the Season!”

  Her aunt Grace was utterly shocked. “How will we explain this to Richard?” her aunt asked.

  “Father told me I was required to marry this season and to a man equal in power to him. Would this not help others notice me more?” Malia asked innocently.

  Really she was thinking of how this expressed her true self more and it made her happy. She had been miserable since coming to London; even the letters she had sent her sister had not dulled the end of her hurt.

  “You most certainly will get noticed, but I am not sure it will be in a good way,” Grace muttered.

  “Then we shall see, shall we not, Aunt?” Malia asked whimsically.

  …

  Though it was not yet dark the gaming hells of London’s East End were filled to the brim with lords and riffraff alike sitting at the tables, playing their games.

  At a table in the back sat the Richard, the Marquis of Lakewood, playing a hand at whist, as smoke rose from his cigar to float with the rest at the ceiling. He looked over his cards motioning for the next card to be dealt.

  As the newest card glided to the surface of the table he cursed, tossed down his losing hand and pulled a strong drink.

  “Lost again,” rumbled a darkly amused voice, as if that had happened a million times. Because it had. “How much did you lose this time?”

  Looking up Richard met the cold eyes of Lord Brackus, his elder by a few years. He did not like the man very much but the man had always gotten him out of a pinch when he lost to much at cards.

  “More than I should have,” retorted Richard before he waved to start another game. The dealer smiled back at him, missing more hen a few teeth.

  “Did you bring my payment,” Brackus asked as he took a seat and waved for his own hand of cards.

  Richard flinched. He…had not. His funds for the year had already been spent and rent could not yet be collected from his tenants.

  “I do not have it,” he blurted out, “yet. But I will.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” Brackus said as he shook his head, “It was due today, Lakewood.”

  “I have a few things that should be panning out soon, if you give me a little more time I can even add interest to the amount I owe you.”

  A dark greedily look took over the man’s eyes. “You owe me six thousand pounds, which is no small sum. But I do like a good deal.”

  The Marquis looked up at him feeling relived, he knew that he had a problem, but he just couldn’t stop. This had been the only way to keep him sane since his wife had left him. He had only gotten in deeper, losing more money than he could pay back, drinking away his problems.

  But now he had his daughter back, a young woman he had done nothing more than see once every few years for a few years. He loved her dearly, but she reminded him of her mother and seeing her drove the need for him to get away, to find relief in his addiction.

  “But I am interested in something else then your money, Lakewood,” Brackus said before downing the rest of his small glass of cheap brandy.

  That slapped him back into the moment. “Something other than money,” he repeated dumbly.

  The man smiled snidely. “So you were listening. Yes, something other than your money. I would consider a fair trade. I have heard your daughter has made her come out, and I am sure that I have seen her. Lovely young thing, but she had a wild look about her. I find myself in need of a wife since my Marie passed on a few years ago, and your daughter would fit the roll perfectly.”

  Shock flooded through the Marquis, the man wanted Malia! He would never hand her over to this man, for he had heard the cruel tales of what he got in repayment out of the wives and daughters of the men who owed him money and could not pay it back.

  His daughter’s dowry alone was more than fifty thousand pounds! Exchanging her and her dowry for a mere six thousand pound? He did not think so.

  It had been a good thing that his daughter’s dowry had been held in trust by his mother, for in his weak moments he would have used it all and left her with nothing. In one of his drunk moments he had tried just that.

  He shook his head slowly. “I cannot make her wed you, Brackus. Plus her dowry alone is worth more than a mere six.”

  He watched as the man’s grip tightened on his glass. “You need not force her, Lakewood, but suggest strongly, she look at me as a possibility. You do want your debt paid do you not?”

  Swallowing nervously he nodded, but he would never do such a thing.

  With a last swallow the man stood and put on his hat. “Marry the girl to me or pay double before the month is out, choice is yours,” he growled before leaving the Marquis to look after him as he left.

  As soul deep wariness settled in the pit of his stomach, he settled his head in his shaking hands. What was he going to do? There was no way he could produce
enough money in a month to pay the snake off.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Season was in full swing now and she had been pretending to be a lady for more than a month now. She felt almost settled in the swing of things, but she still did not like the confines of society rules.

  So every now and then she snuck away dressed in the outfit she had lifted from one of her father’s maid. Today was one of those days that she needed to feel free.

  With her hair tied up under a plain white cloth, her grey uniform dress on Malia went out in London. She strayed far away from the fashionable streets and parks it was proper for ladies and their maids to go. She wanted to explore the side of London that they would hide away from her, the real London the no real lady would be allowed to see.

  The farther east she west from the center of town, the worse things got. The paved streets turned to gravel and before long turned to muddy dirt. Wide streets that were unpopulated turned narrow and filled with people who ranged in their style of poor dress.

  It didn’t hit her until she saw two small boys and a small girl in what she would barely call clothing, the real difference between her world and her fathers.

  If she had not been born the daughter of the Marquis of Lakewood, she would have been that little girl.

  A strong feeling built up in her chest, working its way up her throat until tears pricked her eyes. It was a combination of heartbreak and pity for those children.

  Malia reached into her skirts inner pocket were she kept some coins just in case she needed them and went over to the children. They watched cautiously as she bend down in front of them and asked, “Where is your mama?”